


Nothin' On You

by WhyDoIWrite



Series: Sunshine and Whiskey [4]
Category: Women's Soccer RPF
Genre: Bangers only, Established Relationship, F/F, Home Is Where You Are, Lesbian Sex, Nude painting, Strap-On
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:36:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27570892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhyDoIWrite/pseuds/WhyDoIWrite
Summary: Little black dresses are meant to end up on the floor.
Relationships: Tobin Heath/Christen Press
Series: Sunshine and Whiskey [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1881538
Comments: 16
Kudos: 154





	Nothin' On You

**Author's Note:**

> Here's a little smutty Sunday blurb. You know, in case Sunday Night Football isn't your thing. It's my thing though, so off to watch the game. Also, this is not proofread because I CANNOT.

_'Cause when you got nothing on_  
_There ain't nothing wrong_  
_Loving you all night long's all I wanna do_  
_I've seen the mountains high_  
_I've sailed the ocean blue_  
_When you got nothing on_  
_Ain't nothing got nothing on you_

“Ahem,” Christen clears her throat nervously. She hates that she has to do it – she always feels like life would be easier if Tobin just noticed her on her own – but Tobin’s lying sprawled out on their living room floor painting, and when Tobin is painting, she's in a state of zen comparable to what Christen slides into when she's meditating. If Christen doesn’t do something to get her attention, she may stand there forever. Tapping her nails on the side of her wine glass didn’t come close to breaking Tobin’s concentration, but her voice does. What she doesn’t hate is the nerves she still feels every single time – so many years later – in that slight pause while she waits for Tobin to look up at her. To take her in. To say something. Or to say nothing at all because Tobin is so good at speaking with her eyes.

Tobin rolls onto her side unhurriedly, and sets her brush down and stretches before her eyes focus on Christen, leaning against the frame of the corridor that leads to their bedroom, the wine glass now touching her lips. It takes Tobin a second and a few hard blinks to realize something is different – Christen's wearing makeup. It’s natural and understated enough that Tobin doesn't pick up on it right away, but when she does, her gaze slowly travels down. To Christen’s neck and the diamond choker sitting just above her collarbones. To the straps that frame her shoulders and the hint of cleavage visible just above where the black fabric meets in a V. To the way it hugs Christen's hips like it was made just for her. Tobin’s eyes continue lower, to Christen’s muscular thighs, and down those long, slender legs. She doesn’t _need_ to look any lower – the way Christens calves are popping, Tobin knows she’s wearing heels – but she can’t stop herself from taking all of her fiancé in. Tonight, Christen’s completed the outfit with her red Louboutin pumps.

It’s the exact outfit Tobin told her not to bother with when they were trying to pack their lives up for the move to Manchester; Tobin had no intention of spending any of her time in Europe wearing clothes equally befitting of that level of fancy.

It’s the exact same outfit that Christen said wasn’t even on the table for discussion as they tried to limit their clothing, knowing their new closet wasn’t going to be an entire bedroom like it was back in Portland. _What if they had an awards ceremony to go to? What if Tobin wanted to take her out to a fancy dinner?_

****

Tobin had laughed at that. “Do you think Manchester even has fancy restaurants?”

“It’s not some tiny hamlet, Tobes. It’s almost as big as Portland,” Christen rolled her eyes, placing a kiss on Tobin's forehead.

Tobin hardly looked up at her from where she sat on the bed trying to narrow down her selection of snapbacks and beanies. “Oh. I thought we were moving to a quaint English village,” she shrugged, with no intention of packing differently now that she had this new knowledge.

“I showed you pictures of the exterior of our apartment," Christen chided her. "Did that look like a village?”

Tobin had shrugged again. She wasn’t really looking at what was in the picture; her eyes were drawn to the colors more than anything else. The beige of the stone building. The odd green of the oxidized copper roof. The way the sky was reflecting in the windows making the glass such as pretty shade of blue. It was like nature had infiltrated the building, she thought, immediately becoming obsessed with those colors. After that, she didn’t really pay much attention to what Christen was saying or showing her, ideas for a new Re collection beginning to swirl in her head.

****

She’s not laughing now, not with Christen wearing that little black dress that is just barely on the right side of too short. Or wrong side, depending on your definition. To Tobin, it’s definitely on the right side of too short – now – but it hadn’t always been.

When they first started dating and Christen dressed like this, the stares she got out in public made Tobin uneasy. Nervous. Jealous. Everywhere they went, Christen turned heads. As men looked her up and down, the same way Tobin is now, she would always feel the urge to take Christen’s hand. To snake an arm around her waist. To claim her. Let the world know that this gorgeous woman was hers. But she wasn’t allowed to. Christen quickly picked up on her possessiveness and insecurity, on the clenched fists and set jaw, the darting eyes and tense shoulders.

“It’s hot,” Christen whispered in Tobin’s ear, pressing her back into the mirrored wall of the elevator when they returned to the hotel from a black-tie event for Nike.

“What is?” Tobin had asked, a hand tentatively settling on the small of Christen’s back.

“How jealous you get. It turns me on.” Tobin was about to protest, but then the last four words hit her right in her core. She couldn’t even speak in that moment, as the knowledge slowly seeped into her brain and she tried to figure out what to do with it. And then Christen made everything worse – or better – depending on your definition. She reached behind her for Tobin’s hand, widened her stance, and slid their joined hands between her legs so Tobin could feel the dampness of her panties on the back of her knuckles. “I’ve been wet all night. Will you please do something about it, baby? I need to come. I need _you_ to make me come."

Tobin thought it was definitely, definitely better, even if she couldn’t speak. Or think. Or move. Hell, she could hardly stand any longer in that elevator. She was certain that if Christen’s body wasn't pressed against her, pinning her to the wall, she would have collapsed right there.

“This can be yours. For as long as you want. Forever, if you want,” Christen held Tobin’s hand there, waiting for her neurons to start firing again. “You have nothing to worry about, baby.” Tobin was about to test to see if she could get her fingers to move again when the elevator dinged open and Christen led her to her room with an airy laugh that Tobin would never be able to get out of her head. They never bothered to get separate hotel rooms again after that night.

Tobin thinks Christen looks even better now than she did years ago on that night. She takes her time scanning Christen’s body on the way back up and stops again on Christen’s face. Her eyes are bright and smiling. Her hair is natural, curly and cascading around her shoulders. Tobin feels like she’s could die every time she sees Christen like this. She told Alex that one time, and Alex had assured her the pain in her chest that she felt when she first caught a glimpse of Christen all done up would eventually fade. “Serv barely looks up when I walk in the room anymore, no matter what I’m wearing,” Alex assured her. "You won't feel like you're dying forever." Alex was wrong – just more confirmation that dating men was not worth it, not that Tobin needed that confirmation – but she was certainly glad that her friend had been mistaken.

That mini heart attack is what tells Tobin she's still alive. Still in love. And Christen’s effort tells her that feeling is mutual.

“What are you doing?” Tobin chokes out from the floor.

A slow smile spreads across Christen’s face. She’ll never get tired of Tobin’s reaction to her, how her voice is already fucked up in under thirty seconds. She feels horrible for dragging Tobin away from her home – their home – no matter how happy Tobin is playing for United, because now they’ve just ended up in lockdown all over again. She knows there’s no way to make it up to her, no way to make the stir-craziness go away, but she thinks this will help.

****

“The pandemic is out of control,” Christen had said, lying back in the bed in Portland. “We don’t know what kind of season we’ll have here or if it will be safe. Let’s go somewhere where we know we can play. Some place where we don’t have to live in isolation,” Christen appealed to Tobin’s high-strung personality that resisted lockdown life with every fiber of her being, her wild eyes making her look more and more like a caged animal recently. “Some place we can play together,” Christen had added in a whisper, wrapping one arm around Tobin’s waist and letting the nails on her other hand slowly scrape down the back of Tobin’s neck.

Tobin would have said yes anyway – there was nothing she’d say no to when it came to Christen – but the realization that they could find a way to get back to the game they loved and do it together made it an easy yes. A yes she didn’t have to think about, blurting out her agreement before Christen even had a chance to breathe.

****

Christen takes another slow sip. “We can’t go anywhere. To celebrate you. I thought we could celebrate here.”

“Celebrate me?” Tobin’s brow furrows.

“Your goal. The way you brought our team back. The way you’ve been playing lately. So good, Tobes,” Christen says with a deep appreciation. It feels like the old Tobin is back, though she doesn't want to say that because she knows Tobin is still bothered by the long slump she had been in. “I thought you’d like it better than going out anyway," she continues. "You always get impatient, try to rush us home. And this way, you don’t have to dress up.”

Christen certainly knows her.

“And um…” Christen hesitates as she weighs whether or not to let this additional bit of information out. “The way you yelled, when you scored… that was hot,” Christen lowers her voice, knowing it will go a long way towards achieving her goal.

“Was it?” Tobin asks cocking an eyebrow as she studies Christen's face. Her eyes are hungry, hungry enough that Tobin rushes to push herself up off the floor and close the gap between them. But then she remembers the still-wet paint on her hands and stops just short of Christen.

“You can see for yourself how hot I thought it was,” Christen leans forward and whispers in Tobin’s ear because she's positive that it will drive Tobin especially crazy right now, when she can’t get her paint-covered hands on Christen’s body. Tobin breathes in the aroma of Christen’s perfume, a soft scent of orchids, that’s now mixed with wine. “Wash up and come to bed,” Christen squeezes her hip, places her glass in Tobin’s hand, and turns on her heel, leaving Tobin to stare after her helplessly.

Tobin gulps down Christen’s drink, sets the glass on the counter, and follows. She comes out of the bathroom to Christen leaning back on the bed, her legs crossed, one casually swinging the heel still on her foot. In the time it took Tobin to get all of the paint off, Christen has lit candles, darkened the room, and put on some soft music.

“Fuck,” Tobin groans.

“What?” Christen asks coyly, standing and letting her hands snake under Tobin’s hoodie. Tobin's sharp intake of air is enough for her; the way her abs tighten in waves as Christen’s fingers move across the muscles is just a bonus.

“You know what," Tobin says hoarsely.

Christen does, but it doesn’t mean she wants to hear it any less.

“I want you. So bad, Chris.”

“Yeah?” Tobin swallows hard and nods, and is rewarded by Christen’s fingers climbing higher, rolling her nipples into peaks through the fabric of her sports bra. She watches Tobin’s eyes flutter closed and the muscles in her neck stiffen. Christen pulls her hands away to a grumble, and she kisses Tobin’s pouty lips to silence her briefly before removing Tobin’s glasses and setting them on the dresser. “Aren't you going to check and see how much it turned me on when you got all fired up for your goal,” Christen continues to tease her, peppering kisses along Tobin's jaw. She gets a vigorous nod in return. “Go ahead. Touch me, Tobes. I need you to touch me.”

Tobin hasn’t even kissed her yet, but she knows this is exactly what Christen wants sometimes. She runs two fingers through Christen's slick folds. “Fuck, Chris. You’re so wet,” Tobin moans at the same time Christen does.

“Dripping for you,” Christen pulls her closer. “I’ve been like this for hours,” Christen’s voice stutters as Tobin’s fingers brush her clit.

“Why didn’t you say something?” Tobin asks, her mind already going fuzzy.

“I know you like to come down after games. You were so into your painting tonight, I didn’t want to pull you away. I couldn’t take it anymore. I was going to have to start touching myself if I couldn’t get you off that floor. But I wanted to make sure you know how good you are.” The effect that has on Tobin is immediate. She shudders against Christen’s body, and it’s exactly what Christen wants, Tobin nudging closer to taking charge.

“Take this off,” Christen tugs at the front of Tobin’s sweatshirt. “And this please,” Christen trails her hand down Tobin’s sternum and over her sports bra. Tobin complies willingly, like she always does. Christen slowly lowers herself to her knees, dragging Tobin’s joggers down and helping her step out of them, brushing her lips over Tobin's center and breathing in her scent on the way back up.

That has the desired effect on Tobin, too, who can't wait much longer after that. She spins Christen around, burying her face against Christen's shoulder. Her hands finally begin to explore Christen's body as they sway together. 

Tobin slowly kisses across the expanse of bare skin on Christen's back. “I thought maybe you’d want to leave that on,” Christen suggests softly, turning her head as she feels Tobin’s hands search for the zipper pull. She takes Tobin’s hands and guides them down to the hem of her dress, helping Tobin to edge it up her thighs. “You can have your way with me, just like this.” She knows how impatient Tobin can be when she finally falls into this state. How she can work Tobin up enough with just the right touch or the right whispered words or the right dress to bring Tobin’s animalistic instincts to the surface. The ones that cause Tobin to push or pull at fabric just enough. The ones that trigger something in Tobin’s brain to throw Christen down on the bed or to take her up against the nearest wall.

Tobin inhales a deep, shuddery breath and closes her eyes. The thought of pushing this dress up over Christen’s hips and bending her over their bed sends a burning heat through her. The thought of flipping Christen over and those long legs wrapping around her, heels scraping up her back, sends a gush of wetness between Tobin's legs. Every so often, there are times that Tobin can’t wait long enough after a night out to even get Christen out of all her clothes off before sliding into her. She knows Christen wants that now, for Tobin to fuck her senseless. She can tell by the heaviness of Christen's hands and breath, and maybe she will later, but right now, Tobin has other plans. She wants to take the lead, but she wants to take her time, wants to take all night. When Christen pushes back into her, it's all almost enough to send Tobin over the edge, almost enough to ruin those plans. Tobin shakes her head. If Christen can wait this long, Tobin can wait, too. “Wanna see you. All of you.” She slowly slides the zipper down, appreciating every additional inch of Christen’s skin as it’s exposed, until the black dress ends up in a puddle on the floor.

Christen finally turns to face her, and she takes Tobin’s breath away all over again. There is nothing in the world more magnificent than Christen Press, standing before her, completely nude. Tobin takes Christen by the hips, pressing their flesh together, and before long, she’s unable to keep her hands off Christen’s ass. Tobin kisses her down into the bed, then stops to slowly remove each of Christen’s shoes. She slides back into bed, hovering over her, tracing her finger over the choker. “How’d I get this lucky?” she shakes her head, staring into Christen’s green eyes.

There’s barely any space between them, Tobin’s nipples brushing Christen’s, but it’s enough for Christen to wedge her hand between them and tease through Tobin’s folds.

“Fuuuckk,” Tobin almost collapses on her. She reaches down and takes Christen’s wrist, pinning it above her head. “Just let me. Please.” And before Christen can even answer, Tobin slots a leg between Christen’s.

It makes Christen’s neediness appear on full display, the pressure that doesn’t give her any relief, and Tobin loves it. Loves how Christen’s hips jerk upward. Loves the strain in her muscles as she tries to get what she wants. Loves the quiet whines that escape through Christen’s slightly parted lips. “Please fuck me, baby,” Christen breathes out.

This… this is everything that Tobin could wish for and more. The Christen that’s desperate and begging. The Christen that doesn’t allow herself to be like this often. Sometimes, their best sex comes when they fill those less familiar roles that leave them both vulnerable.

Tobin kisses that mouth that pleads to feel her inside until Christen quiets again. Christen’s mouth is hot and tastes like alcohol and peppermint from her chapstick, and Tobin is quickly lost in all of it. Countless kisses later, over time and distance and loss, Tobin's lips still find hers with the passion of a new relationship, not their well-worn and ever steady life together. It’s not until she feels Christen’s leg wrap around her, urging her on, that she remembers what she was doing. She props herself up on an elbow and traces her tongue down Christen’s neck and along a collarbone. All the while, she slowly walks her fingers lower and lower, until she’s lightly flicking at Christen’s clit. Christen responds immediately, arching off the bed, and Tobin takes the opportunity to suck one of Christen’s dark nipples into her mouth. She rolls her tongue over the hard bud. The combination of Tobin's teeth on her nipple and Tobin's fingers curling into her sends zings of pleasure throughout Christen’s whole body.

It doesn’t take long for Christen to come undone; she really has been horny since their game, but Tobin didn’t anticipate the nails that would dig into her back with every stroke as she used her thigh to push farther inside of Christen. She didn’t anticipate that she’d have to swallow Christen’s moans with a kiss because she was getting so loud. Or how quickly Christen would be begging to go again, the first round barely taking the edge off.

Tobin kisses her way down Christen's body, slower with every complaint Christen lodges at her, until her mouth is hovering over Christen's center. Tobin can feel the heat radiating off of her and blows a puff of cool air over Christen's clit. Instead of helping Christen to come down, it works her up even more, her hips erratically jerking up towards Tobin's mouth in search of anything, any bit of relief. Tobin takes her time licking a long strip from Christen's hole to her clit with a wide flat tongue, and she repeats the process until Christen's movements steady and fall in line with her own. "You taste so good, babe. Sweet," Tobin hums against Christen's clit, sending another bolt of electricity through her. Then Tobin finally gives her what she's been after, her tongue all but glued to Christen's clit, flicking in a pattern better than any vibrator or past lover ever could, because Tobin knows Christen. Knows when she's close. Knows just how much she has to pull back, can pull back, to prolong Christen's pleasure in the most agonizingly delicious way. And she knows when Christen's hands tighten in her hair and her legs go rigid, she can't tease her anymore.

“Will you wait?” Tobin questions later, their breathing finally back to normal but their sweaty bodies still tangled together.

“Where am I gonna go, Tobes?” Christen’s laugh is muffled by a pillow. She can’t see Tobin, but that heightens her other senses. She hears the drawer glide open and close softly a few seconds later. The barely audible sound of Tobin’s briefs landing against the edge of the laundry bin. She missed, Christen can tell when she hears the second soft thud immediately after. Tobin always misses. The sound of straps tightening causes Christen to rub against the roughness of their line-dried sheets.

“Wait, baby,” Tobin’s voice is low and gritty, and it makes Christen think that she most definitely cannot wait much longer.

Christen breathes in the fresh, crisp scent of the sheets to ground herself as the bed sinks on either side of her. And then Tobin’s solid hands are on her hips, lifting her up. Tobin traces her index finger along Christen’s spine, trying to draw out Christen’s anticipation again. “Please, Toby,” Christen pushes back into her as Tobin follows the curve of her back with kisses.

“Please what?” Tobin grazes the head of the cock over Christen’s clit teasingly.

“I need to feel you fill me. Please. I want to come with you inside of me.”

That’s all Tobin needs. Gripping the base of the cock, she easily slides the length into Christen. “You like that, baby?” Tobin asks, her voice raw.

She’s met with a moan as she slowly slides in and out of Christen. “So good. So fucking, good Toby.”

After a few minutes, Christen begins rocking back into Tobin, each thrust pressing into Tobin’s clit until she can feel her heartbeat between her legs, and Tobin think that she might get off like this tonight. She grabs Christen’s hips and picks up the pace, thrusting into her. It’s then that Tobin realizes how exhausted she is from the game earlier, her thighs and ass starting to burn. She leans into Christen, forcing her onto her elbows. The change in angle allows the cock to hit Christen’s g-spot; Tobin knows this as soon as the curse words that had been coming out of Christen’s mouth in a steady stream start to die on her lips and are replaced by little strangled sounds from the back of her throat.

Suddenly, Christen is fully alert again. “Fuck! Right there, don’t stop!” Tobin takes this as a sign and grabs for her _pièce de résistance_ waiting next to her on the bed: a bullet vibrator that she reaches around and slides over Christen’s clit. Christen bucks violently back into Tobin, and within seconds, she’s screaming Tobin’s name, completely oblivious to the fact that they now share a bedroom wall with their neighbors.

Tobin doesn’t relent for long, continuing the slow strokes as Christen comes down She knows she can bring her to orgasm one more time, but Christen’s grip on her wrist tells her she needs to ditch the vibrator. Tobin continues fucking her, speeding up until the slapping of their skin fills the room and it becomes harder to push into Christen. “Want you to come again,” Tobin breathes against Christen’s ear, before biting down, and that’s all it takes to send Christen over the edge one final time, as they collapse on the bed together.

Tobin slowly pulls out of Christen, and Christen flops over beside her. "Fuck, Tobin. You're. _So_. Fucking. Good." She leaves her hand on Tobin’s chest because she likes feeling Tobin heave as she struggles to get oxygen flowing through her limbs again. And she likes the way that over time, the rise and fall gradually slows and she can tell Tobin is coming back into herself.

“We should think about doing this every time we score.” The words roll lazily from Tobin’s mouth.

“Agreed. Seems like a good motivator to score every game. But you’re gonna dress up for me when I score?”

“Didn’t bring anything,” Tobin smirks, not even trying to feign regret.

Christen is unbothered by it. She grabs the strap still slung across Tobin’s hips and pulls her fiancé towards her. “You can just walk around the house in this when I score. That’ll be all the motivation I need.”

Tobin laughs, deep in her chest, and works the strap-on off, tossing it over her shoulder and onto the floor. “If that’s what you want…”

“It is. It so is,” Christen beams, snuggling back into Tobin’s arms.

“I need to tell you something,” Tobin says after a few minutes of silence.

“What is it, babe?” Christen’s words are just beginning to slur with sleep. “You love me?”

“Yes. Well of course, but that’s not it.”

“I don’t know if you’ve told me enough today. You should tell me again.”

“I love, Chris.”

“K. Love you too. Is it that you can’t wait to marry me?”

“Baby,” Tobin whines, “you know I can’t wait. If this pandemic doesn’t get under control and we end up stranded here, I’m just going to have to marry you in England.”

“I don’t think that’s legal,” Christen chuckles. “Oh!” her eyes shoot open. “Can you go again? Do you want to? Is that it?”

“Well… I mean… I- I- I could,” Tobin stutters.

“I know! You want me to wear the strap. You wanna be on top? Pleeeeaassee,” Christen begs.

Tobin doesn't know how Christen has the energy for this level of excitement after a game and half a dozen orgasms. “Chris- ” Tobin starts again, but it's hard to be serious. She loves when Christen gets playful like this, silly instead of deep and thoughtful like she usually is. “I really have to tell you something.” Christen leans back enough so she can see Tobin. Her eyes are serious but her face relaxed and unworried about whatever it could possibly be. “I’m… um… going to list the condo,” Tobin says quietly.

“What? Tobin, no! That’s home," Christen tries to sit up, to look at her, but Tobin was already anticipating the response and brings her closer instead.

“It’s not. I mean, it was. I love Portland. Lord _knows_ I love Portland, I’ve made you spend too many off-seasons there. But, I realized awhile ago that what I thought was home only was because you were there. I’m not going back. I don’t need it anymore.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry about the trade,” Christen sniffles as she speaks into Tobin’s neck. “I’m sorry for making you come here.”

“What? No! Chris- ”

“The Thorns were everything to you.”

“Baby,” Tobin murmurs, stroking Christen’s hair and trying to find the words she needs to convince Christen that she is more than sure about this. “ _You’re_ everything to me. Listen, we tried. For years, we tried to get the league to make it happen. It didn't. It is what it is. Coming here was one of the best ideas you’ve ever had. Besides when you decided to tell me you were in love with me.”

“Shut up,” Christen pinches Tobin's side because Tobin was the one who said it first.

“I mean it though," Tobin falls serious again. "Playing club ball with you makes me realize just how right you were. I’m _happy_. I’m finally having fun again. I feel like _me_. And this trade, babe, this is exactly what we were aiming for. This gets you home. It gets us home.”

“What if it doesn’t?” 

“It will,” Tobin says confidently, confidently enough that Christen really does believe that the powers that be in the league will eventually get fed up enough with them that she - that they - will get to go home.

California home.

Family home.

 _Home_ home.

She lets Tobin lull her into a state of peace with the gentle crescent moons she traces across her back. Eventually, Tobin squeezes out from under Christen and rolls to face her. Christen grins at her, assuming it means Tobin really is ready to go again. But Tobin takes her by surprise. “Can I paint you?” she asks shyly. She doesn’t know why it’s never occurred to her before, but now, as she says it, she can already picture the colors she needs. She wants the way she sees Christen immortalized on canvas.

Christen lets out a letting nervous giggle. “Ok.”

“Ok,” Tobin sits up and rubs her hands on her thighs nervously.

“How should I… pose… I guess?”

“No don’t. Just like that,” Tobin presses a kiss to her hair and hops out of bed to gather her materials from the other room. "You can go to sleep if you want," she suggests. "It's gonna be awhile. I'm not fast."

As tired as Christen is, she doesn't sleep, and after a few minutes of staring at Tobin sitting naked on a stool with nothing but her glasses on, she begins to feel energized. She's watched Tobin paint countless pieces before, but tonight, Tobin seems different. The creases in her forehead as she stares at the ceiling. The way she keeps chewing on her lip and rubbing the back of her neck. She's still focused, but it's a different kind of focus, one that’s more edgy. Almost buzzing. And Christen is obsessed with memorizing everything about her and not missing a single time Tobin looks in her direction.

“God, you’re perfect,” Tobin murmurs, setting down the brush momentarily to massage the cramp in her hand. She knows how much Christen hates that word, but there’s no other word worthy of describing Christen’s naked form.

Tonight, Christen doesn’t argue with her. There’s too much love on Tobin’s face, too much awe staring right back into her eyes. It’s so clear that Tobin absolutely believes what she says. Maybe Christen doesn’t believe that perfection exists on her own road chasing progress, but maybe there is a such thing as perfect in Tobin’s eyes.

“Come see,” Tobin finally says with a self-consciousness she hasn’t had about her art around Christen since they first started dating. “It’s abstract,” she adds unnecessarily as Christen’s hand falls to her shoulder.

“Tobes…”

Tobin doesn't wait for Christen to finish her thought. “That rust color is for the Grand Canyon. And the way I did your necklace... it's just like Eiffel Tower when it was twinkling. It’s a different sparkly than the way our medals shine, over here. These,” she points to flecks of red and green and purple, “are the colors I remember the most in Times Square. And the yellow because of all the cabs whirring by," she rambles. "The hot pink was the color of your scarf when we were on safari in Africa, and this is the color of the dirt field we played on. It’s a different color than the dirt field I grew up playing on in Jersey. This is the color of the water in Greece,” she continues, “and this is because you’re prettier than every full moon I’ve ever seen. I thought of all the things we’ve seen together, all the places we’ve gone, and you’re more beautiful than all of them. You’re what gives all of those experiences value. I’ve seen so much of the world because of this sport, this ball at my feet, but it would have been mostly meaningless without you. All the places we’ve gone were supposed to take my breath away, but you’re the one who takes my breath away,” Tobin explains. There are at least a dozen other colors, many she’s mixed on her own, that she leaves unmentioned, knowing there will always be time later. “So I painted you as everywhere we’ve been.”

"Tobin," Christen has to stop to wipe the tears in her eyes. "This is amazing."

A shy grin tugs at the corners of Tobin's mouth, and she pulls Christen towards her, hiding her face against Christen's bare stomach. "No more crane. No more bridge. No more Golden Arches,” Tobin adds playfully, tickling Christen’s side. “I don’t know if we’re going to keep looking at Manchester clouds and rainbows or we’ll get to wake up to the Hollywood Hills outside our bedroom window, but it doesn’t matter. You're the only view I want for the rest of my life."

Christen smiles, this soft, contented smile, and drops a small peck on the top of Tobin’s nose. She caresses Tobin’s cheek for a moment, but then Tobin notices a change in her face, almost an impish grin start to spread and cause her eyes to sparkle again. “What?” Christen tugs Tobin up off the stool and back with her towards their bed. "I have paint on my hands," Tobin protests, but Christen ignores her, pulling Tobin down on top of her, the smile only getting bigger. “What?” Tobin chuckles lightly, but Christen pushes Tobin to a seated position and looks up at her through her dark lashes.

“You know what.”

“I don’t,” Tobin shakes her head, still chuckling to herself about how her magically existential fiancé is really here ruining their deep, romantic moment when Tobin's the one who usually has the corner on that market. 

Christen scoots down between Tobin’s legs and slides her hands up and down Tobin’s thighs, and then, Tobin gets it. One flick of Christen’s tongue against her clit, and Christen’s name is on her lips. “This. If we’re going to talk about views, this is a view I want for the rest of our lives.”


End file.
